Not Yet
by miichan2
Summary: Takes place circa X-Force 61, if they had been unable to save Shatterstar's life. Seen from Rictor's POV. Warnings: character death, references to mm relationships. Don't forget your tissues; this one is a three-hankie story.


"Not Yet" 

By Hans Bekhart

Notes and Warnings:  M/M relationships, character death. Takes place around X-Force #61, if they had been unable to save Shatterstar's life.  Seen from the POV of Rictor.  *** denotes a flashback.

            Moments like this you have nightmares about for the rest of your life.  You pray they never happen to you.  So far into his life, so long he's been doing This, he's never had to face a moment like this.  Figures it's the one person he thought he'd never lose.

***When he moves like this, like some big caged cat, it's all over and Julio wishes he could just drop dead on the spot.  No getting rid of a feeling like this, no cure for it when that big cat leans over your shoulder, all casual-like, pointing at something on the computer screen in front of you.  Nothing doing when just a little bit of that ginger hair tickles the back of your neck and that warm breath in your ear sends shivers down your spine and you have to close your eyes –  ***

And look at them, really look at them.  Can't look at him, not yet.  So look at them, they're still breathing, look at the way Cable stands cradling that thing he can't quite look at yet, the way Longshot's eyes are so empty and dull like he's just lost something too, they way Siryn looks at him – oh god, she's looking at me – with her mouth open just a little bit like she wants to speak.  Oh god.  Oh god.  And he thinks that maybe she knew. 

            ***It seems sometimes he only smiles for Julio, who wonders what the others think.  Like there's a little child hiding inside this monster who fumbles his metaphors and similes.  And catches himself studying him, the way he tucks an errant lock of hair behind his ear, the way he moves pelvis first, the way that sometimes you can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he thinks.  It makes Julio laugh in that way that's meant for no one else to hear.***

He feels a little hand reach up and grip his shoulder.  The nails are red and long.  He cannot move, not yet, and doesn't reach back and grip the hand like he thinks he should.  It stays put, and somewhere he is grateful for it.  He thinks he may never be able to move, never be able to do anything but stare.  Someone should have pity on him, turn his face away like he's a little child and tell him yes, it's ok not to look.  In a little while he will be angry, like he always is, but not right now, not yet.  Right now he wouldn't want to describe what he was feeling even if he could.  He never knew that grief could be so heavy, like a cold stone in the middle of his chest that makes him want to curl around it.  And finally he breathes, one long steady exhale that doesn't quite keen.  Cable moves forward, carrying that … that … 

            ***There was a kiss, yes, behind that hospital in Vermont.  A kiss and a promise and a little bit of touching.  Not that kind of touching, not yet, but just lightly along his arms and around Julio's waist.  Inhaling the scent of him, underneath that human shampoo he probably borrowed from the girls, that scent that was faintly, sweetly, him.  Like sun and wool and vanilla.  No way to describe how soft his lips were, the way he laughed just a little after the kiss, like he'd never been happier.  And it was a kiss that drove Julio away so long ago, but he hadn't thought twice when Domino asked him to come back.***

            Finally he looks at him, as Cable brings him forward, kneeling at his feet as he fairly collapses to his knees.  They share the burden and Cable brings one big hand to clasp around his neck, a soldier's comfort.  Never been able to share anything with him before.  So awkward holding such a limp weight, not nearly as heavy as he thought it would be.  They stare down at that still face and he sees in his mind – prays and hopes and pleads – those silver eyes open, that wide mouth turn up in a smile.  He doesn't ask for everything as he stares, just the littlest bit, the littlest goodbye.  Open your eyes.  Smile at me.  You don't even have to say you love me, you don't have to say you don't blame me or that you led a good life.  Just a smile, just one.  

            ***Remembers the ease, the comfort of hours passed without words and knows he's never had a friend like that before.  Watching television, of course, most often, but he remembers just once watching the sun rise over the Arizona desert.  Stayed up too late watching movies and gave up on sleep, instead grabbing blankets and grapefruit juice, of all things, and heading outside.  Laughing when his mouth puckered at the sour taste of the juice.  Comfort.  Comfortable even sitting on rocks and sharing a blanket with another man but not another man, just Him.  Moment of stillness for the two most destructive people he knew.  Moment of quiet.***

The others crowd around them now, no one speaking.  He cannot see the tears run down their faces, wouldn't want to.  He cannot cry, not yet.  He wills and wants and needs but knows.  Shatterstar is.  Not ever going to.  Cannot think the word dead, not yet.  Cannot think the word deceased.  Can barely wrap his head around not here anymore.  He feels hands touch him.  He hopes somewhere that someone will pull his hands away from their (not that word again) friend and turn his face away like a little child, and soon someone will.  He's not ready to let go, not yet, and his mouth opens wide.  No sound comes out, not yet.


End file.
